Beautiful Eternal
by Soltice Todd lolwhat
Summary: Cornilia Smythe, age 6, was quietly murdered in an ally while on an errand for her Mum. Now in the "unearthly paradise called The Inbetween"; she watches her dearly beloved from her Inbetween, watching as a killer seeks out a killer.


Do not ask me who I am, but who I was. I was Cornilia Smythe. As I speak to you now I am already dead. I walk in this unearthly paradise called The Inbetween. May I, if you will, tell you my story?

It started out like any Sunday. The shops were closed, and thus I was usually sent out to do various errands later in the day. Mum sent me out to deliver a message, but to who, I have forgotten. The market was buzzing with activity, of people on Sunday walks in the park and whatnot. Abruptly, a man's hand clasped over my mouth. I let out an inaudible squeak and was roughly pulled into a dark alley. Before I knew it, he was in front of me. I was so foolish as to not recognize the look in his eyes. I was so foolish as to not recognize this as the beginning of the end. It happened so fast- I was soaring above the trees; then above the clouds; and then, suddenly… I was here. I was terrified. A virtuous woman introduced herself as my angel- the one who was going to help me get through this whole process of change. I doubted it. I sat on a bench and looked down, at Mum especially, who was growing terribly worried. I was sent of hours ago. She went to , and even he wondered where I had run off to. The farthest memory he has of me is, of course, is when he met me for the first time. I enjoy watching, when he does remember that first time, that scene play out. The day Mum brought me home, she was terrified of what his reaction would be- for her to bring a child into his household, a little girl, a pale little girl, was sure to be scorned upon by him. But when he looked into my eyes he recognized eyes of a being who has witnessed horrors to quite an extent. And he became attached to a kindred spirit. He hardly even knew me. When I was about 6 years of age, I remember Mum attempting to teach me to bake. Without saying anything, I would walk up the stairs. She would always panic and try to stop me. Then, one day, while she wasn't there, I wandered up the stairs and opened the door. I stepped in, and a splat of blood peppered my face. I watched as he stared coldly at the recently dead, and stepped on the pedal. I relished in the fact that he hadn't seen me yet. I crawled in the trunk and watched him, and realized there was a skilled art to his work, a series of rhythmic movements. Right after the dinner rush, when Mum was sure to notice my disappearance, I climbed out of the trunk. When he saw me, my bloody face, he picked me up. He sat me down in the chair and asked me if I'd like a shave. I had replied coldly.

"," I said, "Mum speaks very kindly of you! I can see why, , you paint with such a lovely shade of red!" He was thinking about my response when Mum came in.

"Mista T, 'ave you seen Cornilia? I can't seem to- dear God, Cornilia! Mista T. Wot 'ave you done to 'er?!"

"," He said calmly. "I assure you, I have done nothing. But she's seen me… She knows…"

"Oh, no! Please Mista T, she's just a small thing… Please, Mista Todd, it would be one less secret to keep, she could help bake me pies and work would get done so much faster…!"

"You have Toby for that."

"But if 'e found out about it then 'e'd go straight to the law, 'e would. She's at an impressionable age… we could make sure she keeps it a secret… Please Mista T, she's just a small thing…." She echoed her previous words as she trailed off. He glared at her, sick of her babbling.

"Have your way, , if it will make you shut up." And then to me, "Listen here, girl. You will not go to the law and tell them about what you just saw, you hear?!"

"Mista T, let me. Cornillia, dear, do you know Judge Turpin?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Well 'e's not a nice man. 'E sent Mista T away for a very long time and killed his wife and kidnapped 'is daughter, you know, dear, the girl Johanna."

"'E did?!"

"Yes, love, 'e did. And so Mista Todd kills people so 'e can practice for when the Judge comes, so 'e's not a bad man, is ya Mista T?" He nodded, and she continued. "And Mum takes the people and bakes 'im into neat li'l pies so the people downstairs won't go hungry and get sick, ya 'ear me, dearrie?"

"Yes, Mum, it's awful nice of ya!"

"But ya can't tell Toby of this, dear, or Mum and Mista T'll get sent away."

"Yes'm, I understand." I could tell was still quite unsure of this. Nevertheless, he allowed me to live. On the only condition that I would not speak a word of this to anyone. So I didn't. As the weeks went by, I went to visit him frequently. We didn't talk much. We both just sat there, and he was glad that his newfound company didn't talk his ears off. I grew closer to him, and I wasn't as sure then as I am now that he did, too. Sometimes, though, I would talk to him- mostly we talked about the Judge- when he would get here, what he planned to do; things of that nature. Sometimes; on rare occasions, he would tell me about Lucy or Johanna. After about half a year, I started to look up at him as a father, but I can tell you for sure now that he cared about me; not like he did Lucy; perhaps he looked at me as somewhat of a daughter. But I could never be his Johanna. I could be his daughter; his somewhat daughter; bur never Johanna. I was never his first priority. He was hell-bent on revenge- for both Lucy and Johanna. But as I was saying earlier, he and Mum were wondering where I was. They both left the house, after Mum finally convinced him that the Beadle nor the Judge would be coming today- on account the shops were closed. And so they left, walking, looking, up, down- everywhere… until they finally got to the market place. turned the corner down the alley way first. Mum was close on his heels. froze, and Mum, filled with some kind of optimistic hope, had managed to gasp out a worried: "Wot is it, love?" He said nothing, simply stepped out of the way. She had let out a cry then- such a horrible, mournful cry that even he felt sympathy. I was there, lying in the ally way. My killer had left my body propped up against the ally wall, and I could have been compared to the likes of a forgotten rag doll. Mum's fingers gently brushed the bruises around my throat, which still had the red marks on it from where my killer had tightly grasped my throat. She began to cry. he picked me up, and grunted something to Mum about getting up. She did, and they walked home.


End file.
